


The Oracle Boy

by yuubaru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Edo Period, M/M, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuubaru/pseuds/yuubaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, faced by a curse that will end his life, Iwaizumi Hajime sets out on a journey to exact revenge for his dying father against an infamous band of thieves and their leader, the powerful Ushijima.<br/>He never anticipated needing the help of the trickster fox-spirit Oikawa; but armed with his ability to stave off Iwaizumi's curse, the two of them begin a journey towards the Dancing Mountains, and towards a perilous battle of fates.</p><p>*An AU that takes place in Edo-period Japan, where Iwaizumi is the heir to a dojo, Oikawa is a fox-spirit, and the two of them have to endure each other's antics if they want to defeat the menacing Ushijima.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oracle Boy

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to be as well-researched as I could for this silly side-project, but forgive me for anything i accidentally use out of historical context!  
> also, im a little embarrassed to admit that ive been out of practice w a computer for a while, so im gonna go ahead and apologize for the formatting.

 

Hajime Iwaizumi watched the sun, trying to gauge how much time would pass before nightfall. His breath was thick and heavy in his chest. 

Around him were his friends, other boys from his village, walking in a tight herd along the dirt road that sprawled out in front of them. Their faces swam in and out of focus as the road got harder and harder for Iwaizumi to foot. He could feel himself sway uncertainly if the hard-packed dirt under his feet gave way to a hole that he hadn't anticipated. 

Their goal—a low range of mountains — loomed ahead of them, just as far away as the first day they came into sight. It didn't matter how much ground they covered in a day of walking; those mountains always seemed just that far out of reach. 

Today, they had been at it since the sun rose.

 

Iwaizumi grunted, and finally slung his sword and pack against a nearby tree just off the road. The rest of his troop noticed with eager glances, and started discarding their packs too, one after another.

 "Are we going to make camp here?" A voice rose up beside him. 

  
Iwaizumi was dropping into a squat, breathing hard now that he could catch his breath, and he didn't need to look to know that it was Kindaichi who was asking. 

Kindaichi had admired Iwaizumi a little more openly than the other boys among their ranks had, growing up. Iwaizumi's father, whose dojo was one of the biggest establishments in their quiet village, was always showing his heir new sword-holds and ways to twist and leap out of the way of combatant attacks. Rather than envying Iwaizumi for surpassing them — none of his friends had round-the-clock training like he did, but they were all enlisted at the dojo and they all took their schooling very seriously — Kindaichi followed him around like a dog, begging Iwaizumi to show him something new and flashy that he had learned. 

After years of this, Iwaizumi had become fond of his wildly spiked hair and his huge appetite for improvement, and never thought twice about being approached separately by the younger boy. 

Kindaichi was looking at him now, waiting.  

 "Yeah. A little further behind the trees." When Iwaizumi replied, his voice was gruff. 

He heard a pause, and then Kindaichi said, "they look just as far away as they did this morning."

  
Iwaizumi lifted his head and followed Kindaichi's eyes to the distant mountain range. The peaks were black, and jagged, and sometimes the heat danced across his vision so they appeared to be moving when he didn't have his better wits about him. On either sides of them was an untamed stretch of wilderness, but the road that rolled ahead of them seemed to lead straight there, which suited Iwaizumi just fine.

  
"... yeah. Just a few more days."

  
Kindaichi eyed him for a moment.

  
Iwaizumi knew that face, and that bald look of concern. Before he could comment, tell Iwaizumi that he didn't look so good — he'd mention it every time he got the chance, these days — Iwaizumi gestured to where a few members of their troop were gathering firewood.

"You should help. You make fires faster than anyone here."

  
To Iwaizumi's surprise, Kindaichi hesitated, nodded with some reluctance, and then turned to give him his peace.

  

Their group of twelve had been traveling for weeks. Everyone was exhausted, and they took their time preparing camp so that no one was settled until well after night fell. A small fire now flickered heartily in the center of their circle, and they ate in hungry silence until they made it through what they had rationed for the evening.  
     

Because Iwaizumi's skill in combat was the best honed, the rest of the boys looked to him like he was a leader. They relied on him as if he were his father, but Iwaizumi knew he wasn't the warm and stern teacher that his father had been for them. At a fresh nineteen-years-old, Iwaizumi felt like nothing but a pale imitation of his dad's guiding hand, but he shouldered the responsibility of leadership well enough. He liked the way the tension in his friends' faces melted away when he reassured them.

He was thinking about that when he heard someone clear their throat uncomfortably on the other side of the fire. Until then, he hadn't noticed how eerily quiet their meal had been, and he frowned when he realized how heavy the air between them was. 

Ever since the recent, rapid decline in Iwaizumi's health that began a few days before, dinners were quiet. He should have been used to it, but he was still bothered by the worried looks they thought he didn't notice.

Iwaizumi cleared his throat.

 

 "I want to take a detour tomorrow."

  
"Huh?" Shigeru's baby-face and whispy hair were illuminated by the fire, and he gaped at Iwaizumi, confused. He was the first to react, and it seemed to take a moment to drag the rest of his friends from their thoughts.

Finally, though, he had everyone's attention, so he repeated himself.

"I want to take a detour tomorrow. There's a town to the south that we can visit to restock on food and supplies."

"Sounds good to me." Kindaichi looked stubborn about expressing his interest, so Iwaizumi snorted. "I wouldn't mind getting some fresh food."

"... yeah." Hanamaki agreed, eyeing Iwaizumi. "No arguments here."

  
It seemed that no one in their band of travelers was especially opposed, and the group was murmuring their agreement to one another until a solemn voice cut through the chatter.

  
"The healing town, right?"

  
Kunimi's expression was unreadable as usual, but he had definitely spoken up, judging by the looks he was getting from his neighbors. It seemed like the entire circle fell silent all at once.

 "It's got an herb farm there, where people say any disease can be cured. Is that why we're going?"

Iwaizumi grit his teeth, but didn't reply. He was working on his final piece of dry meat, trying to tear it apart with apt attention now.

"It's pretty far out of the way." Kunimi prompted him again, plain-faced. He knew, and Iwaizumi assumed that everyone else knew, why they were going. He didn't have the resolve to say it: 

' _Yes, I'm dying. I need the medicine._ '

 "Maybe." Was what he said, instead. He sounded irritable, but he was trying to check his temper. He stood up. 

Kunimi looked content with his reply, and leaned back on his hands. 

  
"I'll keep watch." Iwaizumi said, grabbing for his sword and turning to march into the darkness that waited outside their halo of firelight. His friends all looked after him in timid silence, but no one tried to stop him, or offered to do it in his place. He was fine with that.

 

Iwaizumi settled himself down the road from camp, where the path began to decline into a hill. He had a vantage point right at the top of it so that he could see any traffic on the road, and the trees created a natural arch over the road that would protect him from any wayward rain. Iwaizumi felt better about the storm clouds on the horizon, though he could hear them better than he could ever hope to see them. There was no moon tonight, and his vision was foggy anyway.

  
As soon as he was sitting, exhaustion closed in on him. He could feel the temptation of sleep on his eyelids, and he knew that he should've been smart — instead of sulky — and let someone more alert and determined take watch.

He straightened his back where he was sitting, but that proved as useless as not bothering at all, and before long, the sound of dreams were in his ears.

 

Iwaizumi hadn't actually fallen asleep, but he was in a strange state of half-awake, and every time he closed his eyes he saw visions of his family's dojo or of his village:

He saw his friends gathering in a dirt lot so that they could practice with their _bo_ staffs; Iwaizumi saw himself, but a much healthier version of himself, smirking and demonstrating a proper fighting stance to the boys that needed it; he saw his father watching them with a bemused expression as he stood in a sliding doorway.

  
Maybe a little wistful, Iwaizumi let the memories play themselves out in his head. Things were different then, and it had only been a few weeks since he was living a comfortable lifestyle as his father's heir.  
Things were different now; changed in a way that there'd be no coming back from, even though he hated to admit it.

  
A bitter note of longing carried him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Iwaizumi was startled awake by the distinct rustling of foliage. He realized he had fallen asleep while he was keeping watch, and he was cursing himself for his carelessness when he noticed a shadowy figure move on the opposite side of the road.

He rose quickly, but all of his muscles protested, aching for sleep. Iwaizumi steadied himself. It had started raining since he fell asleep, but the rain was a miserable drizzle that was more annoying than it was impeding. It was the kind of rain that canopy cover did nothing to prevent.

Iwaizumi wiped some water from his brow before he focused again on— something solid, just ahead, watching him.  
Whatever it was, it receded from the road into the forest behind it.  
Iwaizumi's heart started pounding in that way that made it hard to think; the kind of pounding that had his body anticipating a fight. He had to remind himself to stay level-headed, and so he carefully threw a look back at camp, weighing his options.

  
He thought he should call for back-up, but he also didn't understand what he was looking at. A hog, roosting in the middle of the night? If he called for help over something like that, he knew he'd do more harm than good by making his friends nervous, or make them think he couldn't be relied on.  
So, he stood, and began a careful approach toward the opposite tree-line. He drew his sword out of habit, but the truth was, he didn't know how well he could hold his own if that shadow turned out to be a trained thief, or worse.

  
Iwaizumi had the training; his father was adamant about making sure he could defend himself. He didn't know, though, if he had the strength to hold his own anymore. It was hard enough just to rally the strength to wake up, some days.

 Iwaizumi cursed himself again for not insisting that they make camp even further off the road.

 

As he tried to remember the feeling of strength in his limbs, tried to recall all the basics of a fight, the figure — and he could definitely see the human shape of it now— turned and sprinted further into the trees.

 Iwaizumi jolted to a stop, alarmed. He took another measured step, and then a whisper snuck past him on the wind.

  
     " _Are you coming?_ "

  
Iwaizumi started processing things in double-time. He wasn't sure when he started running, but he was; he was barging into the tree-line, a growl lodged right in his throat, in pursuit of who ever that whisper belonged to. Running was hard, but as the adrenaline pumped through him, he started to feel numb in every sense of the word, and he was thankful for it.  
The thing baited him, and even though he couldn't place the tone if he was asked about it later, he was sure it was a challenge.

  
" _Come on_ ," he heard it say again, but he could barely see the trees in front of him, much less try to decipher where that toneless voice was coming from. It was too dark; the trees were black on a back-drop of a slightly _lighter_ black, and that was the limit of his vision, made even worse by the rain.

A few times, he shouldered through foliage he hadn't anticipated and its unforgiving thorns cut his skin. If it wasn't thick foliage, it was an uprooted sapling, or a root jutting up from the earth, and Iwaizumi had to stop several times to prevent himself from falling over.

  
"Where are you?" He challenged, realizing that a chase was pointless.

 " _Over here._ " The voice replied, suddenly in his ear. It was strange, how he could hear words but  couldn't hear the sound of the other person's voice. It was dull, and laid on the air between them blandly. Lifelessly, almost. It sent goosebumps blooming across Iwaizumi's skin. 

  
Iwaizumi whipped around, raising the hilt of his sword so that he could lodge it into the stranger's diaphragm. His sword met nothing, though.  
In that instant, while Iwaizumi caught the sound of someone drawing a deep breath at his side, he realized he was in over his head. Who ever this was, he was fast, and he could see better than Iwaizumi could.

Iwaizumi hadn't gone that far into the forest, judging by the distant murmur of conversation from camp, and he threw a look over his shoulder as the voices of his friends rose up in the distance.

  
"Iwaizumi-san!" He heard, but it was far-off.

  
That instinctual part of him, the one that knew he was about to lose a fight, felt a surge of relief at Kindaichi's voice. The larger part of him panicked; he needed back-up, but he didn't want one of his friends to come looking for him and meet a thief, unprepared.

"Oi—" He began, but a numbing blow to the back of the head made his vision finally give way. He remembered the feeling of the forest floor rushing up to meet his skin, a dull pressure behind his ears, and nothing else.

 

* * *

 

When he came to, Iwaizumi was wet.

  
The light, cotton yukata he had been wearing was soaked-through and it stuck to his skin when he moved. It was daylight again, probably late-afternoon, and the air was still thick with moisture from the rain.  
Iwaizumi knew not to ask too much of himself right away, so he tested his hands and feet first, and then the rest of his limbs, to make sure he hadn't lost movement in them. As far as he could tell, apart from a splitting headache, he was fine.  
Well, about as 'fine' as he was before he was knocked unconscious, and that wasn't ideal.

Iwaizumi dragged himself into an upright position and addressed his surroundings. He was alone, and his sword was right where it was supposed to be, which didn't sit right with him.  
Why else had he been knocked unconscious, if not for his belongings?  
 Iwaizumi grunted in a difficult way as he pulled himself to his feet, immediately concerned for his friends. If the thing just wanted him out of the way, and wasn't trying to loot him for his sword — or money, which he didn't have—, it must've been after something else. His first thought, the only thing that made sense, was that the thief was after their food supplies.  
So, he started for camp again, hurried. What became rather obvious, though, was that he wasn't anywhere near camp anymore.  
Where he should've found the edge of the forest, there was just more forest, and the trees themselves were different: taller, and healthier. The leaves, each carrying its own weight in water droplets, glittered brilliantly under the sun. It wasn't at all the dreary forest that he marched into last night.

  
 Iwaizumi tried marking the sun again, trying to figure out how far he had been carried, and in what direction, but his navigation skills had always been average at best. He worked out which direction camp should've been in with some difficulty, but he wasn't entirely convinced even when he started walking.

 

Hours passed, and the sun didn't have long until it would set again when Iwaizumi finally stopped to catch his breath. His vision was starting to swim; he hadn't gotten any closer to finding his friends, and he'd been moving since he woke up, half-hurrying for fear of finding anyone hurt.  
Sweat rolled down his temples, occasionally dripping off of his brow and into his eyes, and his chest was heaving. The physical exertion was beginning to overwhelm him, so he leaned into an oak on one of his flanks.  
Iwaizumi was considering settling down for the night, or at least detouring so that he could find some fresh water, when something caught his eye: Ahead, the trees were beginning to thin, and beyond that, they opened up to reveal a clearing that Iwaizumi could just barely make out from where he stood.  
He hastily cleared the stretch of forest in front of him, and when he climbed out of the trees, the breeze sent a pleasant chill across his skin.

 

"..." What he found caught him off guard.

Unfurling across the clearing was a beautiful meadow, and just beyond it, the entrance of a shrine. The structure that marked the entrance was fashioned out of dark wood; it hadn't been painted the flashy red that Iwaizumi remembered from visits to wealthier shrines in busier cities.  
Tied between its wide pillars was a thick rice-straw rope, the _shimenawa_ , and strung along its middle were long paper-streamers called _shide_. The _shide_ looked like they needed to be replaced, along with... well, every other part of the shrine, but the entire property struck him as serene, all the same.  
      

He took a hesitant step forward but something instinctive told him that the shrine had been abandoned for a while.  
When he stepped under the entrance, he ducked his head to the small statuette just to his right. A fox, fashioned out of stone, watched him with a gaping mouth.

 

Iwaizumi idly weighed the possibility of this being a trap, and kept a careful hand on the hilt of his sword even though he knew he'd be useless in a fight if it came down to one. Last night was all the proof he needed of that, and he actually felt better then.

His feet guided him along what used to be a well-worn path, until he came to an altar. There was a home adjacent to the altar and store-house behind it, so Iwaizumi assumed the shrine used to be the owner's pride and joy. For all a small shrine was worth, this one was beautiful if not simplistic.

  
It didn't make sense for the shrine to be abandoned until he circled the home, keeping a respectful distance from it in case anyone came out to scold him for trespassing.  
On one side of the house, the side that faced the wilderness behind it, the walls were garishly burnt and scores of wood panel were missing from the frame of it, opening the house to the elements. From here, Iwaizumi could see inside of it, and just like he suspected, it was empty.  
Various items were scattered across the floor: an offering bowl; clothing balled up and thrown haphazardly to the ground; the glass remains of other ceremonial dishes. All of it was charred to some degree by the fire that had claimed the southern wall of the house.  
Iwaizumi couldn't decide if the shrine had witnessed a house fire, or an attack, but he felt a pang of sympathy in his gut at the sight.

Instead of entering the house, he retraced his steps and walked back to the altar that had been all but untouched by comparison. Maybe out of a sense of duty, he lowered himself in front of the small offering-stone and clapped his hands together.

His body relished in the relief the rest brought him, and he remained there, giving the shrine a solemn prayer while he caught his breath.

 

Iwaizumi sat there for the better part of an hour, weighing his options. While he was trying to decide between sleeping at the shrine for a night or sleeping under the cover of the trees, something in his peripheral vision moved.  
He turned his head, and saw one of the _shoji_ doors slide open by a small amount. Iwaizumi rose from his knees.

 

There was no sound, and everything was still for several long moments. Just when Iwaizumi was beginning to think he imagined it, a voice like honey lilted out of the darkness.

  
"You're cursed, hm?"

  
Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose at the condescending tone, admittedly a little horrified, but he kept his eyes low and didn't reveal himself. He didn't want trouble, especially from a stranger. Or worse: his attacker.

"Don't know what you mean." He heard himself reply.

"What's the point of denying it?" The stranger asked, still out of sight. Iwaizumi eyed the door, trying to make out the shape of the person on the other side of it.

"... what do you want?" He frowned, squaring his shoulders. There was something ominous about the entire situation, and a cool chill straightened his back. Iwaizumi was no longer leaning over the altar.

"Hmm. I could ask you the same thing. You're at _my_ house." The voice took on a dark and impatient tone, but finally, long fingers slid through the part in the sliding door.

Iwaizumi flinched backwards at the sight of the young man that stepped out onto the porch, while also reluctantly acknowledging that he was right. Iwaizumi shouldn't have been making demands as an intruder. 

He was silent with shame while he regarded the other young man.

The stranger wore a lavish, white kimono, fashioned to suit his broad shoulders and slim waist. Iwaizumi had never seen anything like it, so different than his plain, cotton yukata. Silken waves in shining shades of blue rolled down the hems until they bloomed into a raging sea near the floor. His honey-brown hair was swept away from his eyes, and his face was handsome except for the sly smile placed just below his nose. That part of him just looked conceited. 

  
The outfit would have been gaudy on any other man, but suited him somehow. If it wasn't for the aura that surrounded him, and his not-quite-human eyes and his strange smile, Iwaizumi would've thought nothing of the pompous-looking young man goading him for a hard time.  
But the longer he looked at him, the stranger he became. Iwaizumi hadn't noticed right away, but sitting in the nest of cowlicks that was his hair were two long, pointed ears. They were a copper color, a little lighter than his eyes, and very... _animal._

 

"Fox—" The word was spilling out of Iwaizumi's mouth before he could stop it, and he suddenly felt paralyzed where he stood.

  
Truthfully, he'd only ever heard about fox spirits taking human form in legends that his father told him as a child, and from wayward travelers as they passed through his village. He'd never seen one, didn't even think they existed outside of fairy-tales, but he sputtered those words before he could stop them, because — of all things, that just made sense. The answer fell on his lap like it had been given to him, and Iwaizumi wondered if it was some kind of divine insight.

 The boy lifted his brows, surprised. "You can see me?"

  
 Iwaizumi didn't know how to reply.

  
"Interesting..." Here, the fox-spirit's voice was bright. "You're about to die."

Iwaizumi's heart started pounding again.

  
"Are you going to kill me?" Was the only thing he could think to say.

The fox spirit stepped forward, but his footsteps made no sounds. He placed a firm hand on Iwaizumi's arm, and feeling suddenly rushed back into his limbs. Iwaizumi swayed, and then leaned against the altar at his back, feeling nauseous the longer he stared into the young man's face.

  
"I'm not going to kill you. You're practically dead, already. I just meant that you can only see past my trick if you're about to die." He paused, and with a bragging note in his voice, he added, "I'm supposed to look like an old monk."

  Iwaizumi was going to reply, but drew a rattling breath instead, and then slid against the altar until he was sitting.

"Shit." He drew his brows together and pressed his hand to his temple. A hacking cough rumbled out of his throat, and for several moments he sat like that, the fox-spirit watching him with odd curiosity.

  
"It's a powerful one..." He heard the thing musing. "Where did you get it?"

Two beats into his barking cough, the fox clarified with, "your curse".

  
 When his coughing fit had passed, Iwaizumi growled and threw him his best threatening look.

"Does it matter?" He countered, trying to draw himself up.

  
"Maybe." It replied, amused by something. When it was amused, it showed. His lips curled up in a wide, narrow grin, somehow captivating and irritating at the same time.

  
But Iwaizumi knew better than to trust a trickster spirit. He'd heard the legends, even if he hadn't believed them. He rose and turned his back to the thing in a showy display of defiance, intent on leaving.

He didn't hear the creature speak again until he was just below the entrance. The fox spirit's voice drifted over, as delicately as the breeze that made the _shide_ sway.

  
"I can help you."

 

 Iwaizumi stopped walking.

  
As far away as he was, the fox deity's voice shouldn't have been whispering in his ear and the sensation sent chills blooming across Iwaizumi's skin.

"Why would you help me?" Iwaizumi asked, wary.

In reply, though, the fox spirit turned and drifted back through the sliding door, out of sight.

 

 Iwaizumi knew it was a bad idea to follow him so he stood where he was, trying to battle his unsteady legs that only wanted to carry him back to camp, and his racing mind that all but launched itself into imagining the possibilities of a lifted curse. That's what the fox meant by 'help', wasn't it?

In stories, fox spirits always had some level of magick to exploit to their benefit, and the guy didn't confirm that he was a fox-spirit, but he didn't deny it, either. And Iwaizumi didn't want to admit it, but he could've used some magick.

In a worst-case scenario, he would die, or he would have to punch the guy's lights out for wasting his time, or for being a freak who wore fox ears on his head. He figured either of those things were better than wandering around, lost in the forest with no food or water.

Somewhere in the middle of the spectacular punch-scene that was playing out in his head (he might've been looking forward to it), he started shaking. It took him a moment to notice, but when his eyes caught the tremor, Iwaizumi carefully closed his hands into fists.

  
As he watched them, something was made up in his mind.

  
Against his better judgement, he turned to face the old shrine, peaceful and inviting as it was. He sucked in a breath, reminding himself that he didn't have a lot to lose, and then dragged himself across the courtyard, to follow the spirit into its den.


End file.
